


Mystery Doctor

by Raisans_Grapeon



Series: Letters Left on your Desk [5]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Low-key Stalking, Ricky Cares, Serial Killers, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 04:24:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisans_Grapeon/pseuds/Raisans_Grapeon
Summary: Ricky likes to think that he takes care of Tinsley. He’s a sort of “doctor without borders,” as Tinsley had put it at one point. But what choice did Ricky have? He can’t play a game when player 2 is out of commission.





	Mystery Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to another fic in this series!
> 
> As usual, I am not professional at this, or studying English. I would love to improve, so any critique is welcomed! Any comments are, as always, greatly appreciated, and help with motivation.
> 
> And C.C. Tinsley did have a brother name Oscar Cole Tinsley, or O.C. Tinsley. It was the best thing I had ever seen so I needed to write it in.
> 
> Anyway, have fun, and enjoy the fic!

The world was caught in the darkest hour of the night, stars struggling against the unbearable light of the restless city. Dreamy yellow and red lights blurred on the streets, and the night owls kept the skyscrapers spotted. Pedestrian traffic slowed, but it never stopped. Couples on late night walks and stray business men stumbling their way back to the nearest apartment complex. The urban musk lay thick in the bitter winter air of January. One room four stories up, however, had a distinctive smell of Marlboros, making the clean lungs of a passing intruder attempt to cough out the tainted air. He stood on the fire escape right outside the window of Detective C.C. Tinsley. The man, Ricky, was adorned in his usual, smooth fitting english suit, and holding an envelope filled with blank, lined paper. Silently, he drew the window open, and ducked into the detective’s office. 

 

The room was cast in shadow, the coat rack in the corner nothing more than a blotch of black against the walls. Papers were scattered on every surface but the ceiling, but Ricky wouldn’t put it past the private investigator to start planting his thoughts up there once his floor was effectively coated. There was clearly no room left on the desk directly in front of the window, stacks of folders overflowing the space, with barely enough space for Tinsley’s ashtray, lamp, and pencil holder. Ricky made a mental note to clean up the detective’s office next time. At the moment though, he needed to go over what Tinsley had written in response to Ricky’s last letter.

 

When he looked at the letter left on the desk, Ricky’s neat and precise handwriting, in shimmering gold ink, glinted in the lowlight. It was untouched, just as he had left it the night before. In their 3 months of correspondence, Tinsley had never ignored one of his letters. Ricky was rather busy moving shop that day since Tinman was getting too close to sniffing out his location. He didn’t have time in the day to see if the detective had even come in. Ricky had just guessed that Tinsley would be in, and the detective skipping work was unusual to say the least. In Ricky’s mind, was definitely something worth looking into. 

 

The killer slipped back out into the streets, keeping his head up and stride long, displaying confidence. The lingering souls drifted through the streets, not paying any mind to Ricky. He’d eye each and every one though. They were so ignorant to the danger they were in, smoking cigarettes, chittering with each other. It would be so effortless if he were to just lure one into an alleyway. Tell them that his friend is in trouble and he needed someone to help him. They’d either ignore him, or follow. Those who followed would be the only one in trouble. It’d feel so good with each stab, their attempts weakening as more blood seeped out, and Ricky would just smile, being the last thing they’d see as their eyes glazed over, unseeing. His heart hitched at the thought, want tugging at his mind. The sidewalks were empty when a woman, dressed in a sleek, black, evening gown rounded the corner. Alone.

 

Ricky composed himself, before picking up pace, and freining panic on his face.

 

It was a small detor, but the opportunity was so golden, Ricky just had to seize it. Now his suit was dirty, which meant he had to take the alley paths back to his new location, which he wasn’t used to yet, change, then go back out and see Tinsley. Maybe it was more trouble than it was worth, but that was neither here nor there. It happened, the world just had to live with it. That woman sure wasn’t going to, but that was beside the point. It took about an hour, what with cleaning up and all, but Ricky was back on track to get to Tinsley’s apartment. It was high up, tenth floor. Ricky stood a block away from the base, singling out the window that looked into his main room, a yellowish light indicating that someone was awake inside. A frown set in on Ricky’s face. The detective had the audacity to take a day off, and ignore him? Unforgivable. Ricky needed to get in there. 

 

There were several problems with that plan. One, Tinsley’s apartment wasn’t aligned with the fire escape. Two, if he waltzed in, Tinsley would most definitely deduce the situation in seconds and would attempt to apprehend him, which would only lead to C.C.’s death. Three, his apartment was outwardly facing the street, which meant climbing up to the window would definitely be something anyone would notice, and then that would be a whole new mess. Good thing, Tinsley’s apartment was on a corner, meaning that he could possibly peer in from the side, depending on if the person on the tenth floor of the adjacent building was awake or not.

 

With a light huff, Ricky took to examining the perimeter, walking down the alleyway between the apartment complex and the next door building. He could see light coming in from Tinsley’s window. The fire escape of the other building was placed at the set of windows across from C.C.’s. A relieved sigh escaped from Ricky’s throat, shoulders sinking slightly. He ascended to the tenth floor, leaning over the bars to try to get a clear view into the window. He could see a door, and a bed with a crumpled up mess of sweaty limbs that vaguely looked like Tinsley. Ricky’s brows furrowed, humming lightly. 

 

The door opened, and Ricky quickly ducked down to press himself against the grated  metal bottom. He could only hear muffled voices, but nothing definite. 

 

The rough sound of a window opening let the voices carry out into night. 

 

“There. It won’t be so stuffy now, and some fresh air will be good for ya. It’ll get ya on the beam.” It was a voice Ricky didn’t recognize, brain swimming in possibilities.

 

“Oscar, I told you, no! Close the fucking window, fat-head!” That one was familiar, almost relaxing, even if it was slightly outraged. Tinsley’s voice was horse, grating uncomfortably. Ricky thought the famed detective, ‘didn’t get sick.’ 

 

“Oh, yeah. Some a-hole is gonna sneak in and murder ya. Call me when there’s real danger.” Footsteps, and the Ricky watched the lights go out. 

 

Inside, Tinsley muttered incoherently, obviously irritated by ‘Oscar’s’ lackadaisical attitude towards his concern. The killer leaned up to peer into the window. It was hard to see Tinsley in the dark, but he could see a body shifting around uncomfortably. “Murder or not, that crumb will come waltzing like he deserves to be here. And I won’t even be awake to see it.” Ricky smirked to himself. Of course Tinsley knew he’d be there. No possibility slipped past the detective. 

 

The moon overhead crept higher in the sky, and Goldsworth was starting to get bored as Tinman’s feverish grumbling petered off into sleep. The criminal could go in the moment he thought the sick detective was passed out on his bed, but that was a sure fire way to get him caught. He had to wait till he was sure that C.C. had lulled himself into whatever dreams might be conjured up by his jaded mind. It would be a while, but Ricky needed to take precautions when attempting to spook his totally best friend ever who was out to apprehend his ass. Like best friends do. At some point, the killer guessed that he should get some supplies together to one, get in the house, and two, actually give Tinsley so he could get out on the field again and play with the new murder that had happened that night.

 

The sun was going to start calling over the horizon soon, so Gold prepared to make his way across the gap. He managed to some rope, which he tied to the railing of the fire escape landing above him. He tied the other end to his waist, and kept a firm grip on a plastic bag of miscellaneous supplies. Huffing at the effort required for the whole endeavour,  Ricky stepped over the side of the fire escape and let the rope hold him in the air, His feet were plant on the metal of the guard rails, ready to kick out and line the killer up with a perfect shot of grabbing the windowsill or the window, or anything. Waking Tinsley wasn’t a problem once you got him to sleep. With a hefty kick, Ricky grappled the edge of the window, hooking his hand over the ledge to hold himself there. His arm groaned in pain as gravity attempted to throw Ricky back down to the ground. He strained himself to climb up and over the window, swiftly untying the rope around his waist and retying it to the nearest heavy object in Tinsley’s room, which was a box of cuban cigars. 

 

Gold sauntered in, footsteps light and soundless against the textured carpet. Delicately, he drew out a bottle of water, a can of chicken noodle soup, and Blosser’s Medical Powder. Ricky had never heard of the stuff before, but the corner shop lady told him it was the best for curing up whatever junk Tinsley was carting around. The only thing he had left to do was leave a little note. Luckily, the detective kept a desk in his bedroom, stocked with blank white paper.

 

~~~

 

Tinsley awoke in a sweat, feeling like he was roasting in his sheets. Pain pounded against his head, only encouraging the detective to keep his eyes closed. When he tried to kick the blankets on him off, his exposed skin shuddered at the cold of the outside air, making him shiver. He slipped the covers back over him, preferring the uncomfortable heat over the aching cold. Blearily, he cracked his eyes open to see the most terrifying thing, in his feverish mind. 

 

There was a humble piece of paper on the floor, accompanied by soup, water, and medicine with an open window in the background. He told Oscar to close the damn window. Still, it was there, and there wasn’t much else Tinsley could do at the moment other than read the letter left behind by his personal menice. He reached over and pulled the paper up to his eyes, holding it as close as he could to his face in order to sorta see the words on the page. 

 

_ Dear Tinman, _

 

_ Taking a day off, I see? Strange, as I seem to remember that you have proclaimed multiple times that you,  “don’t get sick.” Honestly, it’s because you live like an animal. You eat the garbage that vendors pass off as food, smoke your poor lungs out, and drown your liver. Some days, I wonder if I’m your mother. _

 

_ That is all beside the point though. Point is, I can’t have you out of commission. I can kill, but that means nothing without you on my tail. I mean, I killed a woman last night, and you are unfortunately bedridden! Am I supposed to trust the police to solve this one? I don’t think so, Tinman.  _

 

_ So, to ensure a speedy recovery, I brought you some supplies. Of course, you’ll need to ask this “Oscar” fellow to help with some of them, because I have officially decided that you will remain in bed until this sickness blows over. I brought you some good water, a can of soup, and this medicine that has been said to help greatly with coughs.  _

 

_ Now, waste no time getting better. I promise, no more murders until you are back in your office. _

 

_ Your friend,  _

 

_ Gold _

 

Tinsley groaned, dropping the note in favor of rubbing his face. Of course Ricky killed someone last night. The ‘well wishes’ and thoughtful gestures didn’t mean shit from a serial killer.

 

Though… It was kinda nice.

 

“Bother? What happened? Why are ya groaning?” Oscar opened the door, peering in with a hint of concern in his brows. He looked like Tinsley in the eyes, but he had a full out beard, and shorter hair. 

 

Tinsley merely motioned to the gifts on the floor, covering his eyes with his hand. “I told you, Oscar. You leave the window open, and it’s an open invitation for him to slip in.”

 

Tinsley’s brother knelt down and observed the note, reading it over. “Well… I mean… He had ya in mind?”

 

“Are you defending a serial killer? Did you even read the part about him killing a woman?!”

 

Oscar shrugged, grabbing the cough medicine. “I wouldn’t say defending him, but he’s not the crumb ya made him out to be. We better not hand this to ya. Heard it caused hallucinations.” 

 

C.C. leaned up in his bed, preparing to get up and dressed. “See? He’s trying to kill me.” His voice came out weaker that he intended it to.

 

“Where are ya going?,” Tinsley’s brother asked with a disappointed tone. 

 

“I have a case to get on.”

 

“That’s a gas. Lay back down, ya eager beaver. Serial killer’s orders.” Tinsley pulled a face that made Oscar laugh as he pushed C.C.’s chest down to the bed again. “Ya do anything and ya’ll be as dead as a doorknob.” There was no argument, and Oscar just shook his head. “And they say I’m the chucklehead,” he muttered as he left.

 

The detective stared up at the ceiling, blinking a few times before grabbing the letter from the floor. He read it over a few times, refusing to acknowledge the ghost of a smile on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it all the way to the end! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
